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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26439805">three and a half milliboobs per handful</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsungillumination/pseuds/corviiid'>corviiid (unsungillumination)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, can you believe it, commission, the biggening</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:02:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,330</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26439805</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsungillumination/pseuds/corviiid</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>sylvain was big. he was so large, in fact, that he might actually even be considered pretty big. life was short, unlike sylvain, who was extremely tall, and big. tits</p>
<p>a commission</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>fraught and turbulent relationship between sylvain/his shirts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>114</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>three and a half milliboobs per handful</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>title from this screenshot of a man's writing that i have in this document for reference but can't find again because i black out every time i look at it</p>
<p>commission for waen <a href="https://twitter.com/vwyn19">@vwyn19</a> thanks for letting me live myd reams i guess. rated for repeated mentions of nuts and tooders. special thakns to every thesaurus on the internet</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>   Sylvain frequently woke to the melodious sounds of his creaking bed as it heaved under his hefty frame. He shifted to the side, his manly boobs shifting with him and coming to a gentle rest atop his soft mattress. Simple slaves to gravity were his glorious tits—a price paid for their sexy enormity. Nobody understood the pain of finding indents in everything you owned because of your generous bahonkers and dumptruck ass.</p>
<p>   There was no use in complaining. Along with his many virtues and graces (the names of his fat nuts, respectively) Sylvain was also an uncommonly patient man who understood it best to play the hand life dealt him, even when that hand was the difficulty of having pure sex pump through his veins. Which reminded him, he was due for a ‘sexy test’, which is what his general practitioner called a blood test when the blood was Sylvain’s. Sylvain would just smile ingratiatingly when this happened. It wasn’t their fault that the sluttiness of his red blood cells jammed all their scientific medical machines, just like it wasn’t his. Some men simply have greatness thrust upon them; for example, whoever Sylvain’s most recent partner in sex-having might be.</p>
<p>   Sylvain slid out of bed, ready to face another whorish day. He slipped his feet into his vast slippers, for everyone knew what they said about men with big feet. That’s right, they need to keep them warm, because they have such proportionately enormous bodies that even the slightest bit of cold would paralyse them completely, except for their magnum dongs which remained completely unaffected. He could feel his perky manhood sway in time with his steps as he walked to the mirror, perfectly aware of the pulsing blood within it, because as a man he had heightened senses about his own wiener activity.</p>
<p>   Sylvain had many faults, one of which was that he had never seen his own thighs while standing up. Even in the mirror, the girth of his moobs (man boobs) and the added height of his permanently erect nipples, perfectly in his eyeline, prevented him from seeing his thighs, and as such he did not know what they looked like except when he sat down. From feeling alone, and by doing the mental arithmetic he was able to do based on the feeling of his own man stick brushing against them, he knew they were thick. He could calculate an approximate circumference in just a few minutes, which he did as part of his morning routine every day. They were growing all the time. It was making it very difficult to find pants that fit him, because any pants that fit snugly around his thighs and asscheeks would be far too loose around his tiny waist. Sylvain scratched his head, the porous fibres of keratin sliding cooperatively against the pads of his fingertips, pondering the conundrum. Then he shrugged his shoulders, which caused a minor earthquake in Greenland.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>   Sylvain was punctual for his date with Felix, but Felix was late, which gave Sylvain some time to think about the way the sun affected his skin. Syl was not vain, which was one of his many charms, or at least he wasn’t on purpose. It was part of what made him so irresistible; he did not care about being beautiful, but it simply happened to him anyway, without the slightest bit of active effort, because he wasn’t like other girls. It wasn’t his fault that he was naturally beautiful and the sun kissed his skin the way he kissed babies, when women presented them to him on the street. He had a perfectly even tan at all times, as though he were always walking around in the sunshine naked, which people frequently begged him to do. His eyes changed colour with his mood. Right now they were a deep chocolate, because he was feeling moody and contemplative. They could also be cinnamon, bronze, copper, hazelnut, mahogany, ochre, amber, brick, burnt sienna, chestnut, cocoa, coffee, fawn, ginger, hazel, nut, russet, sepia, sorrel, tan, tawny, terracotta, toast, umber, and many others. Sylvain’s clever mind automatically alphabetised this thoughtful list as he went on, like a mental thesaurus.com and not the real actual one.</p>
<p>   He stopped dwelling on his eyes and began to consider, with some level of self-consciousness, the silkiness of his auburn hair as he ran his hand through it again. It fell into perfectly tousled pieces around his face, flopping artfully into a windswept fashion that made him look roguish and handsome. Across the street, a watching woman walked into a wall in awe.</p>
<p>   Sylvain didn’t notice, too busy fretting about the subtle chafing of his pink nipples, like pearls surrounded by a perfectly circular bed of dark sand, against his expensive polo shirt. The maintenance of the mortal flesh strapped to his sexy skeleton was a trial, but hey, fashion waits for no man, no matter how big.</p>
<p>   Felix was so late that Sylvain began to feel a familiar twitch in his bladder, like his piss was a baby and it was kicking. Sylvain didn’t enjoy using the toilet. His dude-tube was a vessel for pleasure, not for pee-pee. Women were so lucky not to have to pee out of their sex places (Sylvain was a feminist and knew a lot about female anatomy). Sylvain, as a man (<em>ugh, I know</em>, he thought, but luckily he was on women’s side) had to pee out of the same place he did sex with, and it was a thoroughly confusing and unpleasant experience, just like being a man. Sylvain was still thinking about urination when Felix finally showed up.</p>
<p>   Felix looked like a possum.</p>
<p>   Sylvain’s luscious flowing chest hair drifted in thoughtfulness under his shirt as Felix stared at him. He was beginning to feel self-conscious again. He was aware of his own unstoppable sensuality, but it was just as often a curse as it was anything else. He didn’t mean for his body to be this sexy and it wasn’t his fault that his meat was huge. He didn’t choose to be packing. It was difficult sometimes, knowing people only looked at him like a huge enormous slab of meat they wanted to have passionate sex with instead of as an extremely sex-having piece of human sex.</p>
<p>   “Hi,” said Felix, pointy.</p>
<p>   Sylvain’s vocal folds opened enticingly, vibrating and modulating air flow so that he could form human speech with his wet, hot articulators. “Hey,” said Sylvain, the words breasting boobily out of his luscious mouth, showing his pink tongue, which had curves like a boobied breasted body. His voice was like Jolene’s voice in the song<em> Jolene</em> but better and sexier. Hearing his voice made people immediately want to drop to the floor and shout “SEX!!!! SEX!!!!!!!!!!!!!” because that’s what it was.</p>
<p>   Felix (pointy) was visibly making a valiant attempt not to staring at Sylvain’s ass. Sylvain’s buttcheeks undulated gently while he sat down on the café seat. His massive biceps rippled like the Pacific Ocean but more beautiful while he turned the page of the menu. “I think I’ll have the mushroom burger,” said Sylvain in a voice like caramel which had been simmered perfectly for seven and a half minutes. Because he himself was a beefcake, he was sympathetic to the plight of animals and was devotedly vegan. “And an iced tea,” he added, in a voice like butterscotch being drizzled gently over the wings of a baby angel. The menu pages fluttered with his breath, which smelled of freesias and the abstract emotion of ecstasy, and the bat of his eyelashes brought butterflies to shame.</p>
<p>   “Steak,” said Felix.</p>
<p>   Sylvain breathed some air, drawing it lusciously into his respiratory system. “So,” he said, once the waiter had taken their orders and scooted away, narrowly avoiding being pressed directly into Sylvain’s large body. “How are you?”</p>
<p>   “Good. Ingrid stopped by to set up the TV. She’s trying to figure out how to get the sports channel for free, so—can you move,” Felix demands, suddenly.</p>
<p>   “What?”</p>
<p>   “M-O-V-E,” Felix said, visibly irritated. “There’s a cat. I can’t see behind your stupid bulk.”</p>
<p>   Sylvain turned around in his too-small chair to gaze out the window. The picture he made through the café window was reminiscent of an old French movie, although no black and white picture could ever capture the vibrance of his stunning red hair and sun-kissed skin, nor the gentle natural shading of the folds in his shirt from restraining his, as previously described, massive boobs. He blinked slowly, those soft eyelids covering his glimmering golden orbs, as he searched the street.</p>
<p>   There was a cat. Felix stared at it, entranced, ostensibly straining to see it around the curve of Sylvain’s bosom.</p>
<p>   Sylvain reached for his phone to photograph the cat, but underestimated how tight his shirt was. It tore with a stunning <em>RIIIIIP</em> sound, and when Sylvain turned back to survey the damage, it was hanging open at his chest.</p>
<p>   Felix looked at him, annoyed. Not only had he failed to photograph the cat (which was now simply a tail in the distance), but his weighty chest and muscular abdomen were now on full display.</p>
<p>   “Sorry,” Sylvain said apologetically with both grace and poise, trying to cover his bare chest with forty six napkins, which was how many napkins it took to fully cover both tatas. They wouldn’t stay put, so he lusciously poured water onto them so they would stick to his skin.</p>
<p>   Felix stared at his now damp body, napkins clinging to him like a form fitting corset. His lip curled.</p>
<p>   “Let’s just enjoy the lunch date,” suggested Sylvain graciously, his hair stirring lightly in the breeze that was indoors for some reason. He reached across the table to clasp Felix’s hand in a show of friendship, but his arm was so thick and muscular that this act knocked the jug over and it tipped across the table, cascading water over the edge and drenching his pants so that the outline of he pengy was perfectly visible. “Oh, no,” Sylvain said sadly, watching water drip down his shapely legs.</p>
<p>   “Whore,” said Felix snippily, so Sylvain looked at him with big sad eyes like a beautiful cow hybrid with the prettiest big eyes that teasfhjkgfdg fsgjdgehwghgdfhkghfhdjskgfjg ghdfkgdg.</p>
<p>   “Sorry,” Sylvain whispered in a voice like some flutes, oversized flutes. In case you missed it, Sylvain was pretty big. Largely big. Adverbly big, in fact; so big that he was synonym for big, et cetera.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>   After leaving Felix to go be pointy near cats or something, Sylvain went home to change his shirt into one that was more tight-fitting. His regular polo was usually okay when not torn, but looser clothing tended to make him look even bigger, and that was the last thing he needed. A slim-fit t-shirt which was vacuum-sealed to his torso was a huge improvement, his diamond-hard nipples nearly slicing through it and his abs thrown into sharp relief through the jersey fabric. It would have to do. He also changed into unbreathable tight jeans, feeling more comfortable when he could see the crown jewels for himself. They were so fat and juicy that sometimes he couldn’t be sure he could feel them, since they were so huge.</p>
<p>   Freshly changed, Sylvain ran a plate-sized hand through his hair again and then walked biggingly to his car. He placed his frying pan-sized hands on the steering wheel and began to drive to the cat day care to pick up his cat. He waved a wok-sized hand out the window when someone gave way to him on the freeway, then after a short while of nondescript driving he arrived at his destination and bumped his hot and beautiful head on the doorframe of his car. This gave him a bump on his head, which meant that his head was even bigger, giving it a greater canvas for beauty. The cat day care people were expecting him and averted their eyes when they handed him his cat so they wouldn’t be blinded by his blinding white teeth. Too many times had they misplaced cats, only to locate them several hours later buried happily in Sylvain’s generous cleavage. It was an incident nobody cared to repeat, except the cats, who were pretty warm and comfortable, because Sylvain’s boops were big and soft.</p>
<p>   “Hey Corndog,” said Sylvain, holding his cat up to eye level, for he was also an animal lover. Corndog the cat responded by raking a loving claw down his chest, tearing his shirt. This was too much for the already stretched shirt, which promptly burst like a dropped watermelon, leaving Sylvain’s bare chest, his huge boobs, his colossal honkerinos, his sizable badonkerhonkathons, his voluminous awoogathonkatangerininas, on full unashamed display. “Oh man, Corndog.”</p>
<p>   “Without feelings of respect, what is there to distinguish men from beasts?” replied Corndog.</p>
<p>   “Too true, Corndog,” agreed Sylvain, slapping down one million dollars for the cat day care people with his tits hanging out of his, for the second time that day, ragged shirt. “Keep the change.”</p>
<p>   In the car, Sylvain changed his clothes yet again, giving his destroyed shirt to Corndog as an offering. He took his spare button-down shirt from his trunk. It was slightly too small for him now, as he had purchased it a week ago and Sylvain tended to grow ever larger at a rate of roughly 0.18% bimonthly, but straining buttons were as normal to Sylvain as his jeans splitting open at the asscrack when he did the bend and snap to pick up his keys which he dropped constantly so he could do the bend and snap. Then he began to drive home, calculating how much he would need to spend to buy a new suite of clothing for next week, since he destroyed about 86.9% of his wardrobe every week with his bulging muscles.</p>
<p>   He stopped by the gas station to fill up on the way home and to buy some Cheetos. There, he ran into his dear friend Dimitri. Dimitri was also large and had large tooterinos, his tatas much wider than his small waist.</p>
<p>   “Hello, Sylvain,” said Dimitri.</p>
<p>   “Daddy long dick is back in town,” said Sylvain out loud with his human mouth.</p>
<p>   Dimitri nodded thoughtfully.</p>
<p>   At that moment, one of the buttons on Sylvain’s shirt finally popped under the strain of his you-know-whats. It flew directly at Dimitri’s face, hitting him straight in the eye.</p>
<p>   “Ow,” said Dimitri politely.</p>
<p>   As Sylvain rode with Dimitri to the ER, he felt his huge ass leaving a comfortable dent in the front seat of the ambulance. He supposed there was simply no helping it. Something in his slutty, slutty blood destined him to be a beast—of the sexy variety.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>   Dimitri insisted that Sylvain go home after confirming that he still had an eyeball, so Sylvain mournfully did so before his sexiness could harm anybody else. He let Corndog out of his carrier once he was in his apartment and decided it was time to make some food. To do so, he was forced to remove his black leather gloves, which clung to his hands like a second skin. Peeling them off his wrists indecently revealed the whorish blue veins of an insatiable blood haver. He briefly mourned this before embracing his own innate indecency as he was biologically required to do several times a day, having been assigned floozy at birth.</p>
<p>   Sylvain stopped contemplating his life as a fate-assigned hussy and walked to his kitchen, where he smacked his head on the doorframe with bigittude. He had several times enlarged all the doorways in his house, each time removing all his clothing and slathering himself in oil for no discernible reason before engaging in self-taught carpentry. He was technically renting, but he nailed things into walls so sexily that his landlord let him do whatever he wanted, even though enlarging doorways didn’t usually entail nailing anything.</p>
<p>   Anyway, Sylvain made a cheese toastie.</p>
<p>   It was with signature Gautier cheese that he gently grilled his sandwich, evenly browning his bread on both sides. The Gautier cheese was perhaps a key factor of Sylvain’s bigness, his largitude and titanic nature, the fact that he was so vast, tall, wide, big, tremendous, sizable, and big. But this was something he could not help. Sylvain lifted his frypan with his arms, biceps bulging as he flipped his toastie. He would have to make another one. The toastie was simply miniscule in comparison to him, who was large and huge also.</p>
<p>   Tit.</p>
<p>   Sylvain completed his sandwich making process and removed the toasties from the pan before sitting down at his (too small) breakfast bar to eat them. Corndog arrived and promptly licked his sandwiches on schedule, which he allowed, having long given up this fight. Cats were small and he was big, but Corndog reigned supreme nonetheless. Sylvain’s barstool creaked under his ass which was huge.</p>
<p>   Suddenly Sylvain choked on his toastie. As he coughed, he sexily expelled sandwich crumbs from his kissable mouth which would otherwise have threatened his life, which would have been a crying shame because it would be a sin to lose somebody so gorgeous and with such great tits from the world. His honkers swayed hypnotically—oh, such honkers they were!—as he tried to extract the offending breadcrumbs from his tantalising trachea, his cartilage dilating enticingly in his attempts at not being dead. Even in a struggle for his life Sylvain was heartbreakingly beautiful, his bigness never compromised although he was curled in on himself hacking his seductive lungs out in a come-hither sort of way. He finally succeeded in the Heimlich he was performing himself, which he had supernaturally learned to do after traumatically learning that he could never count on anybody. The Heimlich manoeuvre only served to highlight his small waist and generous chest, like a provocative anti-death corset made of triceps. Now fully alive, Sylvain returned to his toastie once more. The average man might have been perturbed by his brush with death, but Sylvain was made of sterner stuff than that. He frequently courted death. He would literally have sex with death if he could, which was something he told everybody and his friends really wanted to stop hearing.</p>
<p>   Sylvain settled into the familiar ass-dent of his living room sofa to watch TV. His full time job as a social media influencer was hard work, but he made his own hours and there was something cosmically rewarding about showing his ass on the internet every few hours and being paid for it. Someday his OnlyFans would make him the president.</p>
<p>   As he began to drift toward a comfortable sleep, Corndog purring on his lap, Sylvain lapsed into dreams that very much resembled reality. In the dream, Sylvain was large—he was sizeable, of considerable size. Sylvain was substantial, considerable, great, huge, immense, enormous, extensive, colossal, massive, mammoth, and vast. He was also prodigious. Tremendous, even. Gigantic. Giant. Monumental! Mighty, stupendous, gargantuan, even elephantine. Titanic and epic and mountainous; megalithic, monstrous and Brobdingnagian. Towering and tall and high and lofty and outsize. Oversized. Overgrown. Cumbersome, perhaps. Unwieldy? Inordinate. Unlimited. Goodly. Capacious. Voluminous. COMMODIOUS. Spacious. Good-sized, fair-sized, king-sized, man-sized. Family-sized. Economy-sized. Jumbo and whopping and whopping great. Thumping! <em>Thumping great!</em> Bumper, mega, humongous, monster, astronomical, cosmic, almighty. Dirty great. <em>Socking</em> great. Tidy. Whacking. Whacking great. Ginormous, massy, and well built. Sturdily built and heavily built, too. Sturdy and brawny, burly and broad-shouldered. Muscular, muscly, and well-muscled (which were different). Robust and rugged. <em>Lusty</em>. Herculean. Bulky and strapping. Thickest and stocky. Solid, hefty, meaty, fat, stout, portly, plump, heavy, oversize, fleshy, corpulent, hunky, hulking, beefy, husky, buff, stalwart, thewy, and stark.</p>
<p>   He was <em>not</em> small, little, slight, or short. In the dream.</p>
<p>   Sylvain woke up.</p>
<p>   In a brief moment of half-wakefulness, he wondered if his dream was to be believed, and if he really was all that big.</p>
<p>   He looked down at his body. And he was!</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>you can observe me through the glass walls of my containment unit <a href="https://twitter.com/corviiid">@corviiid</a> on twitter. corndog was named by tracey <a href="https://twitter.com/SORDHAND">@SORDHAND</a>. corndogs dialogue was provided by confucius @he is a philosopher well was i guess hes dead</p>
<p>check out the extensive research i did to write this, <a href="https://imgur.com/a/OJ2JnIh">here's my folder of references.</a> a select few male writing examples that you may notice i took inspiration from./.. pel ase enjoy</p>
<p>a toastie is a grilled sandwich in australian</p></blockquote></div></div>
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